Learning to Teach

Editor’s note: I’ve written and re-written the start to this post about ten times now. I kind of wish I had an animated GIF showing exactly what I typed so that you could see proof of this, but I don’t, so you’ll have to take my word for it. (Too bad, ’cause it would look really cool.) I didn’t even know what I was going to write when I sat down and started writing, and at this point, with my editorial note almost coming to an end, I’m still not sure how this post will go, beginning, middle, or end. Life is like that sometimes, too… write?

Growing up, I loved to read. Voraciously, even. As much as I loved — and still love — food, I sometimes forgot to eat, being caught up as I would be in the worlds of Verne or Melville or Tolkien. My English teachers loved the fact that I read so much… right up until they realized that I would read anything and everything, just not what they assigned me… at least, not when they assigned those readings to me. You could probably say — quite accurately — that I was a horrible student. On the other hand, to say I didn’t learn much would be very, very far from the truth.

I suppose what turned me off about formal education was the way in which it felt so formulaic, so presumptuous, as though completing certain tasks and scoring well on an exam meant that I would actually learn and retain those purportedly essential bits of knowledge. When I was in middle school, one of my older sisters, Monica, had just moved back home after graduating from college. I had these Science papers due every Tuesday, little one-page things that probably wouldn’t do much for me in the big scheme of things. Monica, on the other hand, didn’t see them that way. She would edit my writing, every Monday night, making sure my thoughts and the words that conveyed them were clear, concise, and correct. Of course, she also let me know exactly how my thoughts were jumbled, exhaustingly wordy, and grammatically incorrect. Write, edit… write, edit… write, edit… it was a game of wills in which I, carelessly, wrote with haste and simply to finish, and she, persistently, even painstakingly, edited for quality. To say my sister won out would be inaccurate; we both won, I just didn’t realize it at first. In retrospect, I can say her most astounding accomplishment through that whole endeavor was that she made me care about my writing.

Believe me, that was no mean feat.

I think I view the primary job of a teacher as just that: making someone care about what they’re learning. In coffee, that’s a task both difficult and easy. The difficulty comes because of how coffee is perceived by the masses, namely, as something cheap and easy, almost a throw-away item. On the other hand, the ease comes in part due to that very perception, since the stark difference between crappy, common coffee and wonderful coffee is so easy for almost anyone to grasp and appreciate.

Before I go any further, I must digress and point out something I’ve pondered for some months now. No matter how hard I try to justify my inclinations toward superiority on this matter, I keep coming back to the simple fact that some individuals — many individuals, in fact — just do not enjoy coffee the way I do, nor will they ever enjoy coffee the way I do. This is not a matter of being on the road toward better coffee, it is a matter of not wanting to be on that road at all. I say this because my pride sometimes gets in the way of this simple truth, and it’s always good to remind myself — even type it out if needs be — that being an outstanding coffee professional does not mean that I convince everyone, even anyone, that a six-ounce cappuccino tastes better than a sixteen-ounce latte. Stated differently, there’s nothing morally corrupt when a customer orders their drink extra-hot.

I know, I know. On with the show.

When I was chatting with Jesse the other day, I told him my approach to teaching coffee depends on the individual. Not everyone wants to learn “everything” there is about coffee, and not everyone needs to know “everything” to truly enjoy coffee, for the better, for the rest of their lives. Some just need a web address where they can purchase a good scale, grinder, and press-pot, along with a few simple instructions for press-pot brewing and maintenance, and they’ll be set for another two decades. Others, however, may need to unlearn a lot of things before they can learn anything at all, not to mention “everything.” They need, in all seriousness, to be broken down, made to cry out in frustration and anger, before they can arrive at a point where they can learn. It’s very much akin to building a skyscraper — a deep, deep, deep hole must be dug to serve as a foundation before that massive structure goes anywhere significantly vertical.

Writing all of this stuff is sort of odd for me. I’ve gotten some criticism from folks over the years in how I can seem to be rather off-putting toward those who show a little interest in learning more about coffee, those who say they want to learn more. This is true. Sometimes, I may seem to almost discourage people from pursuing coffee, perhaps even suggesting that the understanding of coffee is far too difficult to be worth chasing after. This, also, is true… I have done that. I’ll likely continue to do that, too. My reasoning is simple: I don’t want to waste anyone else’s time, and I certainly don’t want to waste mine. If someone wants to learn, really wants to learn, I’ve come to believe that they’ll prove it, they’ll show it. They won’t give up, they’ll keep caring, they’ll keep chasing after a better cup. I freely give out my email address to those with questions, and even though I don’t always answer the first time, I do sincerely try to take the time to answer — at length, as often as it takes — someone who earnestly asks questions and listens to my answers.

I really do believe that I can teach anyone who wants to learn; creating and cultivating that unquenchable desire to learn, however, is the real task.

Very nice post, John. It’s fun attempting to get into your head, because you rarely reveal what’s going on in there freely. In this case you have, and it’s fun to read that in light of the experience I had in learning about coffee from you back in the day (and now), and how much enjoyment and frustration it brought me!

“If someone wants to learn, really wants to learn, I’ve come to believe that they’ll prove it, they’ll show it. They won’t give up, they’ll keep caring, they’ll keep chasing after a better cup.” Now that I am in a spot where my coffee experience/knowledge has grown and I am in a position to teach people a thing or two (may they be helped!), this rings true. It drives me crazy when someone just wants the big picture of a brew method or coffee prep, but then they get lazy and decide weighing is not important, and grind is not important, and they just want a caffeine fix and a “coffee tasting” cup at the end of the day. I feel my time is wasted. I get excited not with someone who wants the overview of the pour-over method, but rather someone who asks the right questions, wanting to understand how to make said pour-over better; why variable A or variable B effects resulting cup A or B. I’ll take that every time!

Well said and Agreet. I’ve opened up coffee tastings and seminars to nearly 200 green aprons within 20 miles of my house. They’ve all been given that open invitation to show up and taste good and bad coffee and have a chance to learn, and yet even within the “industry,” (I think we are still technically within the industry.) I can only ever count on 10-15 people who have a deep enough desire to give up an evening and learn more about their craft. At first this was disheartening, and it still is at times, but I’ve come to realize if people don’t really care, then I don’t want to make them care. And this is so for various reasons. 1. The more they know how good coffee can be, the less they will enjoy the coffee flavored sugar milk that is so readily available everywhere they go. And if we are honest. My house is the only place I’ve found that serves great coffee anywhere within an hours drive. It’s rather bothersome waking up at 4am everyday, so I can dial in my grinder and make a shot of espresso before work every morning. 2. Just as you said I don’t want to waste my time or anyone else’s. 3. I have a finite amount of time. I would rather spend that time growing 3 people to really love, know, and create great coffee for others than 200 people to know that great coffee is harder to create than they want to spend the time on each day.

Ten to fifteen? Awesome. Seriously. There weren’t that many solid baristas in Louisville five years ago, and there still aren’t that many today… not that I know of, at least. Keep it up, and it’ll get there. Let me know the next time you host something.

[…] Speaking of learning, there of march contingency be a teacher. John Letoto, spit for Quills Coffee, shares his thoughts and practice on training others about coffee over during Hermitudinous dot com. […]